Our dog, Perry, died six weeks ago. For the past five weeks, I was writing a post in dribs and drabs about him, my sadness and how I was cranking up the oven in the middle of summer to bake loaves and loaves of bread in which to drown my sorrows.

Perry and I were together for over a decade. He saw me through moving to another state, getting married and having a baby. He was a good, old guy. The best. But believe me when I say I am sparing you by not publishing that post. I think writing it was really just for me, a way to muck through my feelings about losing my dearest beast friend.

Perry and I back during our days of adventure. Here we are making a pit stop on our way to the Wildflower Triathlon in Paso Robles, CA. He was such a handsome fellow.

The thing about being sad is that it's really hard to dwell on it when you are busy. While our family had some down time right at the end of June, things quickly sped up to the point where I've had a hard time keeping the days straight. This is probably a good thing.

Our days lately have been filled with trips to San Juan Island and Lummi Island, parades, birthday parties, graduation celebrations, farm camp, nature camp, play dates, potlucks, war canoe scrambles, helping the local triathlon club to put on an Olympic-distance race, and so on.

Inside, I can still feel that thread to Perry flutter whenever I have a quiet moment. I miss him. No matter what, he had the ability to shake things off, live in the moment and feel joy in the little things, like having his ears scratched and his belly rubbed. Or, taking a quick walk through the woods. I've decided to honor him by moving forward in that spirit, trying to keep it simple and enjoying the small moments.

In addition to spending all that time writing the aforementioned "Horribly Sad Post," I found myself doing a lot of reading. Maybe it was a way to distract myself, who knows. Whatever it was, none of my summer reading so far probably makes much sense in terms of being either beachy or breezy. Here's a partial list:

In the Garden of Beasts by Erik Larson - Pre-WWII Berlin, Hitler's rise to power.

Regeneration by Pat Barker - WWI, the effects of trauma on British soldiers and officers. Truly, one of the most outstanding books I have read lately. Ms. Barker, you certainly outwrite the best of them.

About a Boy by Nick Hornby - Not exactly breezy, but so funny and filled with heaps of pure heart. About how friendship and connection from unexpected places can transform you.

Like others around here, we've also been getting out to see friends. With summer being so much about backyard barbecues and potlucks, I thought I'd include a salad that we've been eating a lot of lately. It's from my all-time favorite cookbook, Tessa Kiros' Falling Cloudberries. I love salads that contain both cooked and raw elements like this one. It is so full of freshness and flavor. I hope you'll try it and even bring it to your next get together.

May your summer be full of friendship, love and well-constructed salads. Here's to holding onto memories of our dearest friends past and present, enjoying small pleasures and reveling in the simple moments. Cheers!

Chickpea Salad with Feta and Herbs

The herbs here add a fresh punch while the chickpeas and feta make it savory and satisfying. You can cook the onion-and-garlic mixture a day or two ahead. If you do that, you can throw the dish together in no time. The salad also keeps well for a couple of days once it's made. I've mostly just made adjustments to the quantities of the original recipe so that it could feed more people. Otherwise, it's pretty true to the original.

InstructionsDrain and rinsed cooked/canned chickpeas. Place in a large bowl and set aside.

Heat 3 tablespoons of the olive oil in a medium skillet and saute onions. When they become translucent and are starting to take on a golden color, add salt, garlic and chile flakes and cook for another 1 or 2 minutes. Remove from heat and allow to completely cool.

Where did the past few weeks go? As soon as Memorial Day hit, the days just shifted into one big blur.

First there was our town's biggest annual race, Ski to Sea, a seven-leg, multi-sport journey from Mt. Baker, with its ten-thousand-foot altitude start line to Marine Park at sea level for the finish. It's been going on since 1973 and is an event that celebrates our area's easy access to mountain, river, ocean and many other spectacular spots in between. This year, Marc raced the road bike leg for Tony's Coffee, our favorite local roaster, so we got out and did some cheering for them.

Then, there were the birthdays! Three in one week, including mine, which meant eating a lot of cake. Something, if I am being perfectly honest, I don't mind doing, especially when I am offered a Pure Bliss cupcake.

We've also been experiencing the lowest tides of the year, so Kingston and I have been out with friends exploring the beaches and tide pools here in Bellingham as well as around the county. We've been seeing so many wondrous things! Dungeoness crabs mating, saddleback gunnels squiggling through the tide pools, banks of sand dollars seemingly multiplying before our eyes, purple starfish glinting in the light, squishy anemones that shrink at the touch.

When you walk through the shallows, it's a completely different experience from just gazing out at a body of water from a distance, the dark blue vastness of it stretching out as if one entity. You see life teeming at your feet, even in a few inches of water and muck. Then there's all the stuff that can't be seen by the naked eye. It's all in there. I've often thought of the ocean as Mother Nature's womb -- the original starting point, a container for life that is so rich and varied that most of us can recite only a handful or two of its inhabitants' names.

The beaches here are completely different from what I grew up with in Southern California. Washington beaches tend to be narrow, disappearing with the rising tide, then rocky with its waning. Coastal forest often abuts these types of beaches. To me, they are moody places full of hidden mysteries meant to be uncovered with careful attention and a spirit of awe, as we step lightly through them wearing of course, the proper foot gear.

A dungeoness crab moves through the tidepool...Do you see it peeking out?

The other day, Marc, Kingston and I headed up to just such a place, the Point Whitehorn Marine Reserve, about 25 minutes north of us on the Georgia Strait. It's such a special place, with 54 acres of mature, wetland forest.

At the trailhead, you start along a path that meanders through the forest and takes you over wooden footbridges until you arrive at the stone and rock-covered beach. There are over two miles of public access beach to explore. That day, as we emerged from the forest, I gazed out at the ocean and thought about all that is sacred and worth protecting, like the woods, the waters that surround it and everything that lives here.

When we got home, I wanted to make something that would embody the beauty of both the Pacific Ocean and our local forests. We've been out foraging a lot this spring and the light green tips of the Douglas Fir tips have been really inspiring me in the kitchen. They have a lemony flavor and if you stuff a bunch of them into your mouth and chew, first you get a hit of citrus then a hint of the tree's pine aroma, which lingers. I've been experimenting with the tips in all sorts of concoctions, including here in this version of cured salmon which is citrusy and smoky, woodsy and briny.

Sockeye. Chinook. Coho. Pink. King. Chum. Steelhead. Salmon are synonymous with the Pacific Northwest, and are sacred to the Salish Coast people. But these creatures have so much stacked against them, from loss of habitat and pollution to inhospitably warm waters due to hydroeclectric dams and global warming. This makes them all the more worth valuing, protecting and celebrating.

Douglas Fir and Smoked Tea-Cured SalmonI used wild sockeye, but other varieties will work as well. Just opt for wild over ocean-farmed, which contributes to concentrated areas of pollution. Learn more about best choices available to you from Monterey Bay Aquarium Seafood Watch. Lapsang souchong is a type of Chinese black tea traditionally finished through smoking over pine needles. As far as tree tips go, you can use other types such as those from spruce trees, though I find spruce to be a bit resinous for my taste.

InstructionsIn a mortar and pestle or spice mill finely grind the tea. Finely mince the fir tips. Place both in a small bowl and add salt and sugar. Combine well.

On a tray large enough to hold the fish, spread out half the curing mixture. On top of this, place the salmon skin side down. Spread the remaining mixture on top of the fish, making sure it is evenly coated. Tightly wrap and place in the refrigerator for 8-10 hours.

When cured, remove salmon from tray and rinse under running water without rinsing the little bits of rub that remain on the fish. Pat dry with paper towels. To serve, slice very thinly against the bias. This is great served on a good bread, such as pumpernickel.

Lately, whenever I step outside, I can hear things like the red-naped sapsuckers calling from the woods. Leaves clicking together in the breeze. A two-foot garter snake we've taken to calling Eek (as in "Eek! There's a snake!") slithering across the backyard through piles of dessicated leaves from last Fall. I always hear its rustle before I see the quick movements of its yellow-striped body.

Then, I jump!

There's also the bullfrog who lives in the pond behind our house. He's come back this Spring and let me tell you, he's about as loud as a foghorn. When we first moved here and I was still a city girl, I used to curse his incessant bellowing, his vocal alert to the ladies in the area, reassuring them that he was, indeed, available. But what's to curse, really? He's just searching for a little happiness.

Aren't we all?

"Eek" the snake slithered away before the camera lens could catch it!

These sights and sounds have had me thinking about the small things and how if you don't pay attention, you can move through your day and miss out on them completely. How sad this would be!

Maybe it's because I live in a place with easy access to the natural world, but I find that shrinking the tangle of my mind down enough to make room for "small noticings," as the poet Sam Green calls them, makes my every day life richer.

So wherever you might be at this moment, dare to move a little more slowly. Do look up to the sky. Pause when something catches your eye. Look at it. Really look. If you take the time to "think small," you just might see --or hear-- some truly magical things.

Lemony Banana Bread BitesThese little snack bites are inspired by Heidi Swanson's Lemony Olive Oil Banana Bread, which I make often since it's a favorite in our house. But this time, I didn't want a whole loaf, so I downsized them. They're tender, not overly sweet and are great for sharing. If you want to send them more into the treat territory (versus just snack), you can make a lemon glaze and spoon it over each one and let it set before eating. For the glaze, use equal parts brown sugar and powdered sugar, then stir in freshly squeezed lemon juice until it gets to the thickness of your liking.

In a medium bowl, whisk together oat flakes, flour, baking soda, baking powder, cinnamon, salt and brown sugar. In a separate bowl whisk together egg, vanilla extract, olive oil, maple syrup, banana and lemon zest. Add wet ingredients to dry and stir to combine. The mixture will be fairly wet. Cover and refrigerate for 20 minutes to allow it to firm up slightly. While the mixture rests, preheat oven to 375° F.

Use a small ice cream scoop (or a spoon) to scoop and drop dough onto the prepared pan. Sprinkle with sesame seeds and turbinado sugar. Bake for 12 to 14 minutes, rotating halfway through. The bites are done when you feel a bit of resistance when you press down lightly on them with a fingertip.

If using glaze, cool completely before spooning over each bite.

...And speaking of small things, you can't get much smaller than the amazing creatures living inside a teaspoon of ocean water...

This month five years ago, Marc and I pulled into my brother's driveway here in Bellingham, our truck packed tightly with everything we thought necessary plus the poor dog who was allotted about one square foot of space for the 2,000-mile journey. All along the way, boxes kept falling down on his hairy head and not once did he complain.

We had, after some deliberation, decided that this was the place where we were going to put down roots. Marc and I didn't know where we would exactly live in our new town, but a month later, after I'd started to settle into my private practice, we found a house next to the woods. We have been here since.

Two or even three years in, there were moments where I would suddenly forget where I was. I would open my eyes in the morning, feeling disoriented at seeing the walls of a room other than those of our old bedroom in California. Or, I'd be driving along by the lake and take a turn, expecting to arrive somewhere in L.A.

Somewhere in the middle of living my life, though, that unsettled feeling drifted away. It took a while. My former life in Southern California feels like a dream and now my roots reach down, firmly anchoring me to this place of clouds, rain and wetland woods.

I don't miss the heat, the perpetual summer. What I miss most about my hometown is people -- friends I haven't seen in so long, family I no longer get to spend time with on a regular basis.

There are a few other things, like food, for instance. I know L.A. has changed so much since we left, and the food with it. Just today, I was listening to Evan Kleiman's Good Food on KCRW. She was talking about the rise of Latino coffee houses all over Southern California, including Tierra Mia a few blocks from my old high school. I hadn't heard anything about that before turning on the podcast.

When it comes to food and my hometown, I miss Little Tokyo, or J-Town most and the yummy stuff we'd regularly eat there. Like mochi and mochi ice cream from Mikawaya and warm red bean cakes from Mitsuru Cafe called imagawayaki (see video below) that are cooked in rows of copper pans.

Most of all, I miss our weekly, sometimes twice-weekly visits to the Curry House.

Have you ever had Japanese curry? It seems not that many people up here in our town, at least the ones I've talked to, know about it. In many American minds, Japanese food equals sushi and not curry. But in Japan, it's a comfort food cooked at home, one of those well-loved dishes where each family makes it their own way. Everyone loves it, kids included.

It's my ultimate comfort food.

Kare raisu, as it is known, falls into the category of yoshoku. This style of cooking takes Western ingredients and transforms them into something to suit Japanese tastes. Though most of us think of curry as an Indian spice, rather than something from the West, it's thought to have been introduced to Japan by the British. Hence, kare raisu's yoshoku status. At its most basic, kare raisu is a curry-flavored gravy with onions and may also contain beef, pork, chicken or veggies. As the raisu part of the name points out, it's typically served over rice.

At Curry House, you can order your dish in many different ways. You can get a deep-fried meat cutlet over it, or a ground beef patty. You can have it topped with tofu or boiled egg. It's completely customizable.

Here's the version we cook in our house. It's the one we like and now eat at least once a week as we hold onto memories of friends, family and visiting our favorite place in Little Tokyo.

InstructionsIn a large, heavy-bottomed pot heat oil over medium heat. Add onions and saute until they turn golden and are just beginning to caramelize, 10-12 minutes. Add carrots, then vegetable broth. Bring to a boil then add potatoes and salt. Cover and simmer for about 30 minutes, until potatoes are tender.

In the meantime, make the roux. In a large saucepan or a wide skillet, heat oil. Add flour, both curry powders and garam masala. Stir for a minute or two, incorporating the ingredients together. Add Worcestershire sauce, tomato paste, cayenne and honey, stirring and pressing mixture together. You will have a dry paste. Turn off heat. Set aside.

Once your vegetables are done, ladle out about 2 cups of the liquid. Turn heat back to low for the roux. Add a small amount of liquid to the roux at a time, stirring after each addition, until all of the broth has been added. You will have a very thick gravy. Add all of this back to the pot with the vegetables and stir gently, until a rich gravy develops. Add peas and allow to warm through.

Serve over rice. I like my curry garnished with red pickled ginger (beni shoga). And here! Come watch how they make goza soroh (another name for imagawayaki). They are delicious!

When was the last time you watched a bunch of three- and four-year-olds cook? I got the chance to do just that a couple of mornings last week, when I accompanied Kingston to the Outback Farm, a five-acre place of wonderment (wooded wetlands! chickens! bees! apple trees! an amphiteatre!) located on the Western Washington University campus.

It was the first week of Spring Break and I had signed Kingston up for one of the camps being run at The Outback by Common Threads Farm, an organization here in town that provides seed to table education for kids.

On Monday morning, Cassidy was waiting for us with a pile of felt hearts which had the kids' names written on them. After matching the correct heart to each child, everyone walked together down a narrow path leading to a small valley. There, the kids were introduced to various herbs and tender greens such as lemon balm, mint and mouth-puckering sorrel. They touched and picked, sniffed and tasted. Along the way, they also discovered plenty of earthworms and leopard slugs, to everyone's delight.

I will admit it: I loved it. Joining in, I felt like a child again. We got to stomp over little bridges. Pluck leaves from last year's plants, taste honey from Michael the Bee Keeper's apiary on the farm. What could be better than that?

Watching the teachers and kids cooking together at a picnic table was one of my favorite experiences. When I make food with Kingston at home, we typically end up with huge messes, flour and stickiness everywhere. Though I chalk it up to being part of the fun, it's the opposite of that when it comes to clean up. I can end up getting anxious, or dare I say, controlling, like when I take a breath then say, "Keep everything in the bowl when you stir!"

But what can you expect when you cook with a preschooler? They're going to stir with enthusiasm. They squish stuff together with joy. Because that's how they roll, as Kingston's dad says.

These teachers! Annika was especially kind and generous with them. I watched as she and the other "big friends" helped the kids take turns in different kitchen roles. Annika guided the kids through using a mortar and pestle to mash chickpeas, tahini, olive oil and a little salt. The result? A simple, rustic hummus. At the other end of the table, another group used peelers to make strips of cucumbers and rainbow carrots. Then, they took turns going to pick their own kale leaves before coming back to put everything together into healthy and delicious wraps.

It was surprisngly inspiring. I went home wanting to make good, flavorful food without worrying about whether we were following our recipe "correctly," or if a dish had enough salt. In the end, you can adjust as you go or when it's close to the finish. You clean up together, simple as that.

Watching the kids cook on the farm reminded me that making food should be above all, a joyful experience, one where everyone takes part and the meal is eaten together. That's exactly what the teachers taught the children. In doing so, they also helped them to make real meaning out of the process of cooking -- a profound lesson, through and through.

Back at home, Kingston and I ended up "freestyling" some simple snacks and dishes this week. I let go of my worries about making a mess and embraced the simplicity of joining together through food. It was fun and a way to expand on what the Common Threads teachers had so open-heartedly taught and shared with us.

Our gratitude to them: Annika, Abby, Alexa, Cassidy, Connor, Jaden, Jessie and Sarah, as well as Michael the Bee Keeper and others we didn't meet who made the week possible. You guys rock.

Freestyle Trail MixUse equal parts of each ingredient, or more or less as you see fit. Hate peanuts? Use almonds. Don't like cranberries? Try another dried fruit that has some tartness, maybe cherries. This is the version that we ended up liking most but improvise as you will. The main thing to remember is it's nice to have a bit of saltiness, sweetness, tartness and (for me) chocolate richness. The way it balances out is up to you. The other thing to keep in mind is that if you are eating this while out and about, it's better to have ingredients that aren't too small. You want to be able to pick each piece up between your fingers (so for me, no tiny seeds). That's my preference, anyway.

It is impossible not to love someone who makes toast for you. People’s failings, even major ones such as when they make you wear short trousers to school, fall into insignificance as your teeth break through the rough, toasted crust and sink into the doughy cushion of white bread underneath. Once the warm, salty butter has hit your tongue, you are smitten. Putty in their hands.